


Clearing the Old Stage to Set Up the New

by DanyellaSkylerSilverfire, notbug (KageKashu)



Series: Reconciliation-verse (or: Madara is kinda Crazy. Everyone's learning to live with it.) [4]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Anal Sex, Cannibalism, Hashirama’s overprotectiveness deserves to be a character in its own right, M/M, Madara’s paranoia also might deserve a character tag, Partial amnesia, Play Fighting, Politics, Referenced past character death, Spanking, a story about Jiraiya’s previous incarnation and how he died, implied past noncon, the author is a jerk, vague implications of cannibalism, verbally described gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-20 01:50:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14885357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanyellaSkylerSilverfire/pseuds/DanyellaSkylerSilverfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KageKashu/pseuds/notbug
Summary: They really should talk about things. That’s what Madara’s acting therapist says, and he’s not wrong.





	1. Domesticity, interruptions, and the beginning of a trend or two

**Author's Note:**

> Updates at least once a week on Sat morning. Probably. Possibly twice if I’m feeling prolific enough, and if that’s the case, the second one will be Tues morning. x3 I'm expecting this one to be four chapters.

There was no doubt that Hashirama knew Madara well. He had obsessed over everything his lost friend had done and said for years. But Tobirama was beginning to think that there were a lot of things that Hashirama missed. Things such as: Madara only snores when he drinks. He has a ridiculous number of gloves, and apparently destroys them fairly regularly, so he keeps extras at hand all the times. And he has a strange obsession with model building. That involves bottles. 

Tobirama’s seen such things, but somehow, it never occurred to him that he would witness someone making one. There were all these fiddly little pieces spread out around what had become Madara’s customary seating at the kotatsu, not quite encroaching on the space where Tobirama worked. He wasn’t quite certain what Madara was building inside that bottle, but he could admit that he was growing curious. 

But as long as he was fixated on what he was doing to the inside of that bottle, Madara was quiet. Which was how Tobirama even found out that this was a thing, given that he had asked Madara to find something quiet to do while Tobirama worked. And Madara had done just that. The model he was working on had most of his focus, though he did glance up when Tobirama stretched. Shrugged and returned to his work when Tobirama waved him down. 

It was pleasant, having this sort of luxury. Knowing that they could just sit here quietly and it wouldn’t be a waste of what time they have together. Madara was just stubborn enough to match him. So he smiled while sorting his papers, making sure they were all dry enough to place in the folder he would be taking with him into the office, come the next morning. 

While he took care of these last bits of work for the evening, Gouawae stretched out from its position curled up on the table, and moved to nose at his ink tray and stone. It dipped one tiny paw in the still wet ink and lifted it to examine. Surreptitiously, Tobirama pushed a blank paper in the fox’s direction, honestly curious to see what a pipe fox might do, given the chance. 

“Oh!” the fox said. “Gouawae knows this one! Ink is for _art_! Gouawae will show Yako-sama traditional kitsune sumi-e!” It took its paw and with more deftness than Tobirama would have expected, quickly swiped out several vague shapes. “Our traditional prey,” it told him, “fighting each other.” 

Tobirama watched the shapes gain more cohesion, and they were beginning to resemble a lizard - or was it a toad? - fighting... a moth? A particularly large moth, if the size comparison was meant to be accurate. After a time, there were details. What looked to be tiny trees and mountains, and... a village? 

“Gouawae finally got the scale right!” the pipe fox cheered, and Madara - who had begun watching as well several minutes in - choked on spit. “It is Gojira and Mosura! Trying to be the best they can be! But Kyuubi-sama can crush them both, and the moon too. So foxes will always be better!” 

“The fuck,” he muttered, then looked up at Tobirama. “You were encouraging this?” 

“I wanted to see what it would do with the ink, given paper to use it on. I’m... not disappointed. Gouawae,” Tobirama prompted, and the fox looked up from where it was finishing signing its name - the kanji it used read “Rise Color Flower/Wheel Eternity,” or possibly, “Rising Color, Eternal Wheel/Flower”. Interesting, either way. “Would you mind if I give this to my brother, for his office?” 

Its eyes grew round and shiny, and it let out a little gasp. “Oh! Yako-sama wants to show off Gouawae’s art? Gouawae is so flattered.” Indeed, it seemed _immensely_ flattered, with the way it wiggled in place, all but tying itself into a knot. “Gouawae’s so happy!” 

“It would certainly hold his attention,” Tobirama replied dryly. It was an excellent piece. It would be a shame just to get rid of it. He ran the tip of his finger over the top of the pipe fox’s head, and its eyes turned into happy slits. “Madara... Hm. Has Sora had any luck finding you a therapist yet?” 

“He tried to introduce me to a new one today,” Madara said, with a heavy sigh. He rolled open the scroll his fiddly model pieces had come in and started putting everything away. “They actually got past introductions, but cried when they started thinking about treatment options. Sora seems to think we should try mood adjusting potions, which...” He sighed again, frowning down at a tiny piece of twine. “I’m not looking forward to that. He’s... understandably concerned about my manic episodes, though.” 

“ _I’m_ concerned about your manic episodes,” Tobirama muttered. 

“Funny,” Madara replied, picking up Gouawae and working the tiny fox’s paw clean through application of cloth and water. The fox sat quietly, allowing Madara to work without wiggling too much. “He also thinks we need to talk more. Like uhm. Things.” 

“Things?” he prompted, curiosity twigged. 

“Uhm. Getting over issues things, or at least, you know, knowing about issues so that...” Madara squirmed in place, releasing the fox to curl around his rabbit, which had been napping in his lap for a good share of the evening. “Like, I know you have things that set you off, you just never say anything. I have things too, and. He says we should talk about them. If we can. Or actual shit we never got over, and just pretend we’re fine with. Like therapy, so we have to just. Not be assholes about it.” 

Tobirama considered. He had... many things that he didn’t want to talk about, but he thought he knew what Sora was getting at. Trust. That Madara needed to be able to be open about things, and he needed someone to be open in return. “Mutual trust, huh?” he asked, mouth twisting. “This seems... promising.” He wouldn’t mind Madara talking to him, but Tobirama wasn’t the kind of man who shared his issues. And he didn’t particularly want to start. 

“You don’t want to.” The observation was quiet, meant to be heard, but also to be ignored, if Tobirama wanted to pretend not to hear it. Also a bit sullen, if Tobirama was honest with himself. 

“Of course I don’t want to,” he replied, huffing annoyance. “I’m the one pushing for you to get therapy, though. Just because it makes me uncomfortable, doesn’t mean I won’t try.” 

* * *

They didn’t get around to it that night, because Tobirama got into a fight with Hashirama in the furo and wasn’t in the mood for quiet conversation once he kicked out the lurking cockblocking moron. He had to ward his house against Hashirama’s chakra signature in specific, and then he spent a couple hours aggressively making out with Madara in revenge. 

The next day was spent in frustrating meetings about the various institutions still being set in place in the village, and there was one hour devoted to another major council meeting about how they planned on placing the Hyuuga. It was almost unanimously agreed that the land nearest the Akimichi would be allotted to the Hyuuga clan, though no one was clear on why exactly they made that choice. Tamotsu made some suggestion that implied he wanted them to fight his mother-in-law, or that he was perfectly happy to have them as his new neighbors. All in all, it was a fairly typical council meeting. 

Somehow, he finished up his work for the day early enough to visit his mother with a gift from the daily market. She was just finishing up for the day, still dusted with sugar powder and mochiko, and drying her hands on her apron. Seeing him, she positively lit up. “Tobira-chan!” And he had to move her gift to the other hand to respond to her hug, if only so that it wouldn’t jab her in the belly. She might not be showing yet, but he didn’t want her to have a perfectly avoidable miscarriage from carelessness. “I haven’t seen you since Baachan let you out!” 

Tobirama sighed, but gave her a light squeeze anyway - scanning her with his chakra to make sure she was as healthy as she seemed. He hadn’t wanted to be reminded of his stay in the hospital, but it was to be expected. “Haha-ue,” he grumbled, though the apparent grumpiness was more for show than anything else. 

“My grumpy baby,” she giggled, patting his cheek. “Your sister was here, too. She’s getting apples for me.” She pulled back and he blinked to see the box he had been holding in her hands, and she was shaking it. 

“Haha-ue,” he complained. “Must you?” 

“It makes shushing noises,” she observed, taking a deep sniff, “and smells fragrant. Like flowers. Like roses, and lilac, and lavender, and sakura and ume blossoms.” Then she was opening it - and it wasn’t like he’d taken time to wrap it, but her eagerness was slightly embarrassing - and exclaiming, “Perfectly preserved! Rose cakes, sakura mochi, and all sorts of dorayaki. I’ll bring you some tomorrow! Oh, and I can meet your boyfriend! Baachan told me, then Fuuko told me, then that strange man came here and cried about it. And I think it’s lovely, so don’t you mind him.” She gave him a sunny smile, then moved to put the container of preserved flower petals on a shelf. 

Strange man, huh? Tobirama wondered what Hashirama did to have earned that nickname, as his mother had been using it for years. “I’m not entirely certain I want you two meeting just yet,” he found himself muttering. 

“Is it because he’s an Uchiha? You know, I slept with a Uchiha once, and nothing bad came of it.” He let out an aggrieved sound at that. She just smiled, and continued, as she busied herself with something near the storage area, “I mean. He seemed very nice. A bit rounder than most of you shinobi types, but a lot of stamina. It was fun.” 

“I could go years without hearing about this and be a happier man,” he told her. “And no, it isn’t because he’s an Uchiha. It’s because he’s Uchiha Madara.” 

She paused and eyed him with a thoughtful expression. Then, “Is that wise?” 

“Haha-ue!” 

“Whoops!” came a cheerful voice from the doorway, and both Tobirama and his mother turned to see Fuuko, with a large basket of apples, hopping through the doorway on one foot. “Oh oh! I’m losing them!” She bounced a few more times and then cheered, “Ah, saved! But one of the girls got out!” 

Tobirama didn’t even need to look to know that meant that one of her boobs was just sitting there among the apples. “Haha-ue wants to meet Madara,” he told her. 

“Ooh,” Fuuko said, making a face at him from over the top of the basket. She shoved it into his chest. “That guy could barely handle me, Haha-ue. I’m not sure he’s ready to meet a genuinely happy person.” 

Their mother hummed thoughtfully for a moment. “He _is_ one of that strange man’s friends, isn’t he?” she observed, then took a couple of apples from the basket to stuff into her shirt. “Tobira-chan, can you put that over here. I’m going to use it tomorrow.” 

“Of course.” He sighed, taking the basket from Fuuko, then told her, “Fix your top,” before doing as their mother asked. “Would you like me to send you some brats to help peel them?” 

“That would be lovely!” she cheered, and once the basket was down, she hooked her elbow in his. “You should come too! Show the little ones how it’s done! But that’s tomorrow, for now, come with me!” 

Evidently, Tobirama wasn’t going to get to escape any time soon. 

* * *

The bonus of having spent the better part of the afternoon with his mother, was that he went home laden down with all sorts of whatever she had been making that day. Tarts filled with seasonal fruit, gooey mochi filled with various sweet pastes, castella cakes and imagawayaki. She had even admonished him when he finally left that he should share some with Madara, even if she wasn’t going to get to meet him yet. 

Sealed away, the treats would last him throughout the week, if not longer, though he left the tarts out, admiring how his mother had placed each slice of fruit like artwork. He could wait for Madara to come back before eating them. No matter how lovely they were. 

He distracted himself from the temptation with what little clan paperwork he needed to finish, and by the time he was finished with that, Madara was not only there, he seemed to have brought back treats as well. “Imo yōkan,” Madara said, shrugging. “I was thinking of the matcha yōkan I found last time, but they didn’t have any. And it looks like I wasn’t the only one thinking of sweets. This... doesn’t seem like a good dinner.” 

“We’re adults,” Tobirama replied, giving Madara an eyeroll and pushing one of the tarts in his direction. “No one cares if we have tea and sweets for dinner.” 

“Only if it isn’t genmaicha.” Madara’s scowl was closer to a pout. 

Tobirama was tempted, but he wasn’t one to waste such lovely wagashi with mediocre tea. “Guricha, then,” he decided, getting up to actually prepare some. 

A short time later, the yōkan and the tarts were decimated, and the tea was almost gone. The little fox noodle snaked out of Madara’s collar, stole a few a few crumbs from the table, then loudly whispered to the rabbit that it was time for them to go now. 

Absolutely certain that Gouawae planned on riding the rabbit through the house, Tobirama sighed and complained, “I had better not end up finding rabbit shit everywhere.” 

While Madara snickered, a small voice piped up, “Gouawae will clean.” 

They were quiet for a while, finishing off the dregs of their tea. Eventually, Tobirama gave in, and said what they were both thinking. “Your little fox seems to have been implying that it’s time that we talk.” He wasn’t looking forward to this, mostly because the whole “opening up” thing was uncomfortable enough with family. 

“Then Gouawae shouldn’t have ridden off on Killer Jade,” Madara grouched. 

“Do you need a hug, Madara?” 

“You’re funny.” Madara let out a gusty sigh then began tidying in front of him, and Tobirama did the same on his side of the table. “Gouawae! When you’re done, put Killer Jade to bed.” 

“Okay!” came a tiny voice from the vicinity of the garden door. “Gouawae will also brush her!” 

“...that’s fine,” he muttered, and collected the dishes to take to the kitchen. “We can talk in your room, when we’re done.” 

* * *

Their talk was delayed. Again. 

This time, Hashirama was in Tobirama’s room. If he weren’t himself, Tobirama might not have noticed. Hashirama was good enough at hiding his chakra that that wasn’t what gave him away. No, it was the fact that all of Tobirama’s clothes, the ones that had been neatly folded and in his dresser, were in the laundry bin. Which had been empty but for the current day’s worth of laundry. 

Which meant... He opened a drawer and was completely unsurprised to see his brother’s stupid face. Madara’s yelp was new though. “Anija...” he growled, and took the oaken scroll case that was sitting on top of his dresser and slammed it into the top of the dresser, hard enough that the sound of it echoed through the room, causing Hashirama to flinch. The stupid, not quite sheepish look didn’t leave his stupid face though. “Next time, that’s going to be your head. Get out.” 

Hashirama just pouted at him until Tobirama reached in and grabbed a hank of hair to pull him out by. “Owwww ow ow, Tobira-chan!” he whined, as he slid right through the wood of the dresser just like Tobirama knew he would. 

“Get out of my house anija.” 

It took a bit more prompting, both physical and mildly violent, before Hashirama actually heeded him, and he had to ward his house against Hashirama’s chakra signature _again_. This time, the wards had an extra surprise if Hashirama chose to try and slip past them. 

They sat in silence for several minutes after Hashirama was gone, while Tobirama put his clothes back where they belonged. Once he was done, and sitting on the bed, Madara made a ridiculous noise that had Tobirama throwing a pillow at him. “Your brother. You say I’m crazy, but _your brother_...” 

“I am, unfortunately, related to him.” Tobirama scowled at Madara, and beckoned him closer so that he could fix the man’s ridiculous hair. Again. “You, on the other hand, actually chose to be friends with him. So I’m wondering where you’re going with that.” 

Madara grumbled, but sat in front of him, and allowed Tobirama to take care of his utter mess of a mane. “I was meaning that he’s crazier than me,” he muttered, but let out a pleased little sigh as Tobirama worked his way through the knots. “He’s. Uhm. Brother-complex or something. Creepy.” 

“I’ll concede the point,” Tobirama agreed dryly, running the brush through a cleared section. The lotion - a mix that was as good for both skin and hair as he could manage without access to rare botanicals - is light enough to act as a decent detangler, as evidenced by how smooth Madara’s hair gets under it. “Now is as good a time as any to start, if you want to have that talk.” 

“Fuck,” Madara groaned, leaning hard into the next brush stroke. “I don’t want to, I just. Think we have to. I don’t have a good place to start though.” 

“Issues things?” Tobirama prompted, using Madara’s own words from the previous attempt. 

“Issues, fuck.” Madara groaned again, then dropped backward to lean against Tobirama. “Okay. Fine. I’ve got one with a really stupid story behind it. So, when I was a brat...” 

“Is that really something that’s changed?” Madara swatted him. “Alright, continue.” 

“Smaller than Kagami. Probably younger. By a lot.” Sighing, Madara pulled himself back upright, waved vaguely at his hair for Tobirama to continue brushing it. “I guess, the first close death is always kinda... traumatizing. But it’s usually not one of those things that everyone avoids talking about. And no one wants to talk about how Tōshō died.” 

“Tōshō?” Tobirama asked, beginning to tug Madara’s hair into a braid suitable for sleeping. 

“My oldest brother.” Well, if that didn’t sour Tobirama’s stomach. But he nudged Madara anyway, trying to show silent support. “He was a... There’s no kind way to put it. He was a pervert.” 

Tobirama paused. “What... does that have to do with anything?” 

“You’ll find out,” Madara said darkly. “And no, it’s probably not what you’re thinking. I think... I was sent to go tell him to come back, and when I found him, he was in a tree, shading his eyes and looking out over a wall...” 

“A peeper?” Tobirama asked. 

Madara grumbled a confirmation. “Anyway, when I called for him, I must have startled him, because he slipped, and on his way down, he knocked down that flimsy excuse for a bath wall, and, in an unlikely series of events, ended up face planted into this woman’s crotch.” 

Tobirama bit his lip, holding in a horrified laugh. “Oh no.” 

“Oh yes. And he could have survived that. It was obviously an accident. But... no idea what went through his head that made him do it. But he just. Fucking reached around and... And then she... His head exploded like a melon.” By the end of that, Madara’s voice sounded rather strangled, but Tobirama was too busy fighting the urge to laugh - while he was appalled, at the same time, the story was _ridiculous_ \- to offer comfort. “So ah. Yeah. Not exactly saying I won’t give blow jobs, but. The second your thighs end up around my head, I’ll freak out.” 

Tobirama couldn’t quite hold back the snort, and he forced himself to concentrate on tying off the braid before he let go of it. “That’s fair.” 

Madara let out a long-suffering sigh. “Go ahead and laugh. Everyone else does. Not saying I’ve brought it up more than a few times, but...” 

He snorted again. “It’s not the sort of story one would expect to be real, you’ve got to admit.” 

Letting out an unintelligible grumble, Madara turned around and pushed Tobirama down. Then proceeded to lay on him. Like a cat. A frowny, pouty cat. “Your turn.” 

“And if I don’t want to?” Tobirama asked, because he _really_ didn’t want to. But Madara just lifted his head to stare at him, rather than reply. “I don’t have anything like that, Madara. The only things coming to mind are long and gruesome stories that I don’t want to think about, much less tell you about.” 

“Something relatively small then,” Madara murmured. “Is there nothing? What about your wrist?” 

His arms twitched upward, but with Madara laying across his chest, he couldn’t touch the scar the way he wanted to. “It’s... a small part of a much larger story. I suppose it can be simplified to ‘captivity trauma’.” It was a gross oversimplification, but it probably got the point across. “I walked away from that with an aversion toward bondage and not liking for my wrists to be held down.” 

“Oh.” Madara dropped his head back onto Tobirama’s chest. “Are they dead? Whoever did that to you?” 

After a moment of silence, Tobirama sighed. “Yes. He’s dead.” That lord was very satisfyingly dead, and Tobirama spared a grimly amused thought for how he went. “He was rent limb from limb by his own people. A fitting end.” A lord who couldn’t honor his contracts hardly deserved to live. Especially when they were of the sort who abused those under their power. 

“Oh.” Tobirama twitched again, this time as Madara threaded his arms under his back. “Okay. Uhm. How about a lighter story? Something funny? I... can’t think of anything off the top of my head.” 

“A funny story,” Tobirama said, tone flat. Oddly enough, something was coming to mind. “Do you want to know why Hashirama had that horrid haircut back when you first met?” It didn’t take long to tell the tale - of one night he had spent tangling his brother’s hair up by hand out of boredom, and a bit of stress as well - and he wasn’t surprised at all that Madara was shaking with laughter by the end of it. “In conclusion,” he murmured, “anija shouldn’t have told me that he would entertain me when I had insomnia.” 

“But really? A rat?” Madara snickered, rubbing his face against Tobirama’s chest. 

Tobirama chuckled as well. “And until the maid found it, he was just assuming it was all tangles. She couldn’t stop him from mutilating his hair with a knife. So what you saw? That was after it was straightened out.” 

“And you didn’t get in trouble?” 

“No,” he snorted. “Anija got in trouble for having such bad situational awareness. I was complimented on the stealth it must have taken to do that without waking him up.” 

Madara was quiet for a long, thoughtful moment. “Your father was a terrible person.” 

Tobirama agreed, but didn’t bother to reply. Instead, he shoved Madara off of him so that he could get comfortable enough to sleep. “Next time, it’s your turn to tell a funny story. I don’t think I’m suited to it.” 

* * *

That uncomfortable back and forth set the tone for the next few nights. At some point, Tobirama would find Hashirama in the house, forcibly evict him, and then they would talk. It got a little easier, over time, to tell little anecdotes about why certain things bother them. 

Four nights in, they somehow got onto Madara’s control issues. How ten years ago, Madara met a painfully charming man that somehow convinced him to leave his family... and how he barely remembers most of his time with him. For an Uchiha, with the sharingan, that had to be terrifying, and Tobirama resolved himself to looking into this Yoshihiko. He sounded like a disaster waiting to happen. 

Part of the problem, he thought, is that Madara wasn’t saying something very important. The man’s current status. Logically, that meant that the man was still alive. And if he understood Madara’s story correctly... Yoshihiko had a very, very dangerous ability. 

As a distraction, Tobirama segues into how he got the burns on the backs of his legs and heels - close to the same point in time, oddly enough. Carrying experimental fire oil through enemy territory, and having had the unfortunate luck to encounter a squad of Uchiha, who immediately chose to pursue a gangly fourteen year old running with a small barrel. 

In conclusion, it was... a spectacular forest fire. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sumi-e: The Japanese word for ink wash painting. Traditionally, this type of art is done by intellectuals (literati), and is meant to be more expressionistic than accurate.
> 
> Gojira and Mosura: If you don’t recognize this, try out some good old B monster movies. Japanese ones. (These are the actual Japanese names of these monsters, btw.)
> 
> Mochiko: Glutinous rice flour.
> 
> Haha-ue: An old fashioned form to use for mother. (Given that Tobirama uses “Anija,” I had to go looking for a similarly old fashioned term for mother.) Just “Haha” is the “humble” form, which is usually used when speaking of one’s own mother to someone else. More commonly used is “kaasan” and “okaasan” with varrying honorifics.
> 
> Imagawayaki: Anko filled cakes that are made in something similar to a waffle iron, only lacking the honeycomb pattern. In recent times, the filling has become more diverse - anything from custards and perserves to meats and vegetables.
> 
> Imo/matcha yōkan: Jellied treats, usually made with anko. Imo yōkan has sweet potato bits in it, whereas matcha yōkan is made from white kidney bean paste (shiro an) and powdered green tea (matcha).
> 
> Wagashi: A variety of sweets typically served with tea. All tend to be plant based.
> 
> Genmaicha: Brown rice tea. It’s one of the cheapest green teas in Japan, though is very popular, and has a nutty flavor. It has a natural sweetness to it, and is supposed to be good for your stomach.
> 
> Guricha: Another type of green tea, also known as tamaryokucha. Literally “curly tea” for the way it’s preserved. Has a tangy berry-like flavor with an almondy aftertaste. It’s also less astringent than most Japanese green teas.


	2. In Which Someone Gets a Little Playful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It can be argued that a playful attitude is a sign of healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New thing! I was having a discussion with one of my lovely reviewers, and it occured to me that some of you might be interested in the OCs and expies as they come up, and perhaps their names and the meanings behind them, as I tend to aim for meaningful or ironic names. So, I’ve decided to add that into the endnotes as well, chapter by chapter as they’re mentioned. Since I didn’t do it last chapter, I’ll throw those characters in at the bottom. (Those from the previous fics will only be added if someone asks about them, or they show up in current fic.)

Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover how Madara felt when he first began talking about Yoshihiko. But Sora was right. Again. He really needed to start giving the little guy more credit, given that the Yamanaka, as a clan, were built around understanding how the minds work. 

The more he talked, the easier it was, and Tobirama didn’t interrupt him once, just rubbed his back and listened the whole time. Didn’t _judge him_ over it. Saved all his questions until the end, and said questions consisted of, “What can I do to help?” and “Didn’t I see his name on one of our assassination wishlists?” 

Madara’s response may well have been, “I’d be happy to give whoever manages that the best head of their life.” 

And Tobirama chuckled darkly at that, then told him a story about how he set a large portion of one of Hi no Kuni’s provinces on _fire_. For all Tobirama’s words the first time, he had all sorts of strange and/or silly anecdotes from his youth. They ranged from stupid crap that Hashirama pulled, such as growing a tree around himself in his sleep and crying all morning as they tried to get him out of it, to cons pulled by one of the siblings that had died long before Madara had a chance to meet him, to mishaps on missions. 

Sometimes, he let slip more serious things, even in what was meant to be a lighthearted story, that left Madara with questions and concerns. Such as: Why was he on the old shogun’s ship, with so many other brats, so long before the civil war? The story that brought that question to mind had been about how a bunch of kids scared the crap out of an escaped prisoner by, after capturing him, discussing how he would best be cooked. Something about the conservation of resources. There were a lot of creepy undertones to some of his stories that Tobirama seemed unaware of. 

Then there was the occasional night when Tobirama knew he wasn’t going to be home and actually warned Madara not to bother coming over. There was some kind of project he was working on, and he flat out told Madara that he would be in the way. So Madara... went home. For the first time in nearly two weeks. 

It was positively eerie. He could tell that a housekeeper had been sent through by Hikaku, to keep it from getting dusty, but... The lack of dust only added to the eeriness. And it was utterly silent, but for the sound of Gouawae groaning in his collar. He could almost hear the rabbit chewing cud in her bag. 

There was no movement. No voice. And yet... 

Madara made his way to the shrine he kept for Izuna, noting that the ashes from the last time he had burnt incense had been swept away. He sighed and reached out to pick up the grainy, black and white photograph of his brother, thumb stroking the edge of the frame. He wondered what Izuna would think of this arrangement he and Tobirama have. 

“Who am I kidding?” he muttered. “You didn’t even want the village. You... You had a choice, you know. I didn’t. I fought against it even when you were no longer there. Until they dragged me down and forced me to acquiesce. Funny thing. Tobirama didn’t have a choice either. Not when it came to fighting you. So would you blame me?” 

Silence. But there’s the comforting weight of Killer Jade in the bag at his hip. A warm length in his collar pressed up against his neck. He isn’t alone, for all that his company are literal animals. 

He let out another gusty sigh, and placed the photo back where it belonged. Then he lit the incense. “I guess, I hope you aren’t bothering to watch me, little brother. Because I’m starting to feel like he’s got the keys to my sanity. He’s the only one who even _bothered_ to call me out. To tell me I’m not alright. And you know what? I’m not. I’m _better_ , but I’m not alright.” 

And it didn’t feel good to admit it, but it was cathartic, saying it to Izuna. 

The whispers didn’t start until late that night. Then they murmured nonsensical paranoia about what Tobirama was up to. That the council didn’t value his opinions - yet he could refute that one right there. Because when he last bothered to speak up at a council meeting, he’d had Tobirama’s backing. Well thought out and like he was on Madara’s side from the start. It was amazing, and validating, and it made him realize that the shadows were spouting shit. 

He would ask Tobirama about his so-called project tomorrow. 

* * *

“I’m prepping for a mission,” Tobirama told him, when asked. He didn’t even look up from the file he was squinting at. “Not necessarily for my undertaking, though it’s looking more and more like I’m going to have to be the one to do it.” 

“What’s the mission?” Madara asked, leaning around for a peek at the file. It showed a lot of technical data, which certainly supported Tobirama’s words. 

“At this point? Probably assassination. I’m hoping for long range. If they’re placed well, I can just flood the area, and won’t even have to go near them.” He whapped Madara with the file, in reproach for the snooping. 

“Political?” he asked. 

“Potentially,” Tobirama admitted, shrugging. “It wouldn’t be... ideal, to leave the situation as is. There are too many lordlings out there that don’t support the daimyo. The Hyuuga were just... the stickiest. I’d rather nip this before it has a chance to be as much of a problem.” 

“Ugh.” 

“Indeed.” Tobirama agreed dryly. “Any particular reason you’re so interested?” 

Madara debated, for a moment, whether to answer, but then just sighed and said, “Paranoia.” 

Tobirama blinked, then actually looked up at him, lips pursed and clearly confused. “Over what _I’m_ doing? Possessive paranoia, or shinobi paranoia?” 

“Both?” 

There was a tapping sound, Tobirama’s fingers against his desk. “If it makes you feel better, you can follow me through the archive all night, and watch me drink that nasty concoction that someone down there brews to keep the archivists from sleeping in the files. As long as you don’t get in my way, feel free to bore yourself.” 

“You wouldn’t mind?” Madara asked. Last time, Tobirama had said that he _would_ get in his way. 

Tobirama shrugged. “You’ll be a distraction,” he replied, grudging. “But if you try and be quiet, I’m sure I can handle it. There’s a couple of decent sized tables where I’m working. If you wanted, you could work on your bottle and be less bored.” 

Madara found himself smirking. “Do you honestly think I could be bored watching you?” 

To his amusement, Tobirama actually turned a flustered pink at that, and his mouth worked silently for a moment. “It didn’t occur to me that I might be interesting to watch, no. I... Really?” 

“Out of your armor, focused entirely on something in your hands? The lines of your body relaxed and no aggression in you? I’ve only begun to see that recently. Of course I’m fascinated.” Just like he was fascinated _now_ , seeing Tobirama, who he’d always thought cold, blushing. Not flushed with fever, or arousal, which was also a fascinating thing, but that special sort of embarrassment that comes from compliments. 

“I see,” Tobirama said, but clearly he didn’t, if the confused slant to his eyebrows said anything. “You may still want to bring something to do, because I’m going to be digging through the files for hours.” 

“And I can drag you home at a reasonable hour, and...” They both flinched as the door slammed open. “Private meeting Hashirama!” Madara growled, just as Tobirama snapped, “Anija!” 

“Hey!” Hashirama cheered, completely ignoring the menacing looks they shot his way. “I need to borrow Madara for a minute, won’t be long!” Then he grabbed Madara’s collar and dragged him all the way out of Tobirama’s office. And while Madara _could_ have stuck himself to the nearest available surface with chakra, he already knew that it would give out before he did, and he didn’t want to be responsible, even in part, for the actual physical destruction of Tobirama’s office. 

“The fuck, Hashirama! What even do you want?” 

“Lunch,” Hashirama replied cheerfully, then refused to let him go. 

* * *

Madara wasn’t lying when he said he’d be pleased to watch Tobirama for hours. The man was both beautiful and unique, and watching him filled Madara with an itch to touch him. An itch that had to be buried for the next couple of hours, at least. 

Contrary to what Madara expected, Tobirama took a box full of files from one of the owl-eyed archive workers, told them to “Give my regards to Komaki,” then sat across from Madara to dig. Madara had been half expecting that Tobirama wasn’t going to bother sitting down, rather walk along the shelves all night. 

When Tobirama pulled out an old looking pair of glasses, however, Madara had to ask about them. And Tobirama flashed a smirk at him that, paired with the way those wire rims framed his face, made Madara want to pin him against a wall. “I need them, obviously. Didn’t we go over this before?” 

“Then why haven’t I seen them?” Madara asked, pouting. 

“Because I hate them. However, between the level of available light, and that so many of these records are written either in too small or barely legible handwriting, I can admit to their current necessity.” Then he went right back to squinting irritably at a scroll that was marked with the symbol of one of the southern clans. 

For the life of him, Madara couldn’t think of any ongoing missions that would require information from that area. He put it out of mind and went back to watching Tobirama, eyes tracing the curves of his face, down his throat. Madara had a deep and abiding appreciation for the way Tobirama’s casual clothes lay on his shoulders. 

“Are you seriously watching me with your Sharingan active?” Tobirama’s voice interrupted his thoughts some time later. When Madara met his eyes, he looked utterly exasperated. It was that same fondly exasperated look that Tobirama had been sporting on occasion lately. 

“Some things deserve to be remembered?” That was the lamest excuse ever. Especially given that it was the truth. Madara took a moment to be grateful that very few people actually knew him on a personal basis. It’s bad enough that those few people had to hear the shit that comes out of his mouth. (Other people tended to know him as a walking natural disaster. Or they knew him by his hair. Which _still_ bothered him.) 

Tobirama _bristled_. “Then remember it. Don’t go using stupid memory cheats for stupid reasons.” 

Mildly bemused, but still _watching_ , Madara wondered just what about this was upsetting Tobirama. If his Sharingan hadn’t been active, he wouldn’t have seen it: the faintest hint of a blush, and furrowing eyebrows. Madara grinned. “You’re embarrassed.” 

Automatically, Tobirama’s mouth opened, and out came a thoughtless rebuttal. “No I’m not.” And he grimaced, but didn’t retract what he said. 

“Is it because I’m watching you? Or is it because I want to remember how you look right now?” Even more so the more flustered and awkward Tobirama grew. The Sharingan was more than just a tool for recording. With it, he could see all the tiny expressions that flitted across Tobirama’s face, usually gone too quickly for him to have any hope of reading. “It’s both, isn’t it?” Madara was _thrilled_ , titillated, and he resolved to use the Sharingan like this more often. 

Tobirama grumbled at him, pouting. It was here that the resemblance to Hashirama showed. Yet, where Hashirama tended to look ridiculous when he did it, on Tobirama, the expression was _cute_. “Why are you like this?” Still grinning, Madara reached across the table and cupped Tobirama’s face in his hand, running his thumb over the stuck out lip. “Madara..!” 

He slid his hand back further, to cup Tobirama by the nape and pull him into a kiss. A kiss which, for all of Tobirama’s grumpy posturing, he melted into. Madara was suddenly aware that it had been _days_ since they last shared a bed. He meant what he said about prying Tobirama out of the archives before it got too late, but he also had a strong urge to tease him. Knowing full well how annoying Tobirama would find it, he leaned back just enough to say, “You’re lucky you’re cute.” 

He didn’t even flinch when Tobirama swung the file at him. 

* * *

“I’m allowed to have an opinion,” he found himself protesting several hours later, once he managed to cajole Tobirama from the depths of the administrative building’s archives and into a bath. It wasn’t sex, but it was relaxing, and somewhere deep down, Madara was a little miffed that Tobirama had a bigger, nicer furo than him. 

“Not anymore, you aren’t,” Tobirama grouched, sinking low in the water and glaring at Madara from under the hand towel sitting on his head. 

He still felt like taunting Tobirama, so he said, “I thought you liked dirty talk.” 

It was even harder to tell when they’re soaking in hot water, but Tobirama flushed again. “Saying you want to fuck me in my glasses doesn’t count as dirty talk.” 

“Oh?” Madara smirked at him. For some reason he couldn’t ascertain, he was in an obnoxiously playful mood, but if he could be annoying and still get laid, all the better. Much to his amusement, Tobirama twitched when Madara flopped against him, causing water to splash over the sides of the tub. “You’re still being cute. I think you should wear them right now. They’ll fog up right away, but it’ll look good.” 

“I’m not cute,” Tobirama grunted. “And what is this thing you have against my glasses?” 

“What part of what I said makes you think I have something _against_ them? I _like_ them. I think you should wear them in the office. All the time.” He kissed Tobirama’s jaw when Tobirama tried to squirm away. Tobirama’s head tipped back, exposing his throat further and giving away some of his true opinion of the proceedings. The way his legs parted invitingly was also a major clue. “Bargaining, then? Something you want from me in trade, and I get to fuck you while you’re wearing them.” 

“Uhm.” And he was starting to sound breathy, even when he was saying nothing at all. 

“Or do you want to fuck me? You can lay back and let me ride you, and I can, hmm, watch you,” he purred against Tobirama’s throat, and encouraged Tobirama’s legs to wrap around him. “How does that sound?” 

In response, Tobirama groaned, legs tightening around Madara. “Madara. Fuck, I don’t know.” 

“Nothing specific you want right now?” Madara asked, running his hands up the back of Tobirama’s thighs. They were like silk and steel, even under water like this. For all the power in the contours of Tobirama’s body, his skin was soft and pale and Madara loved the way it felt. “Maybe you’d like to ride me instead?” That was a devastating mental image. Even more so if Tobirama gave in and wore the glasses. “You’d look so good like that,” he murmured, and Tobirama swore and squirmed when he ground their hips together. “Wouldn’t that feel good?” 

Another groan, and Tobirama’s fingers dug deeply into his hair, pulling some of it free from its usual messy bun. “Out of the water. We’re...” He cut himself off with another curse, writhing in Madara’s hold. “Not doing this in here. Do you even know what that does to the pipes?” 

Madara couldn’t help but snicker at that, even when it earned him a smack in the shoulder. “Not something I thought about, no.” 

“You’re certainly in a strange mood,” Tobirama grumbled. His annoyance wasn’t nearly as sincere as it looked, not with the way his thighs trembled in Madara’s grasp. “Not that I’m complaining. It’s... good, seeing you playful, but... what brought this on?” 

“Hmm. It had to be your blushing,” he decided. Then he hooked his arms beneath Tobirama, and lifted him up, ignoring the way Tobirama scrambled for purchase and cursed at him, and the way the water fell away from them when he stood. “Now, didn’t you say we needed to get out of the water?” 

Tobirama stilled in that way that suggested he was planning something, but when it came, Madara had no way of stopping him. The yellow glow of chakra surrounded them, then suddenly he was no longer nearly weightless in the water. Instead, he was in clear air, still holding Tobirama up by the backs of his thighs, and tripping over the end of Tobirama’s bed. They landed still wrapped together, still dripping water everywhere, and Tobirama was laughing. Free and loud, in a manner Madara had never heard from him. 

It was an infectious sound, one that had Madara laughing with him, face buried in Tobirama’s throat. Somehow, that lead to yet another thing he was curious about, and this was exactly the situation to test it in. 

If Tobirama weren’t so busy laughing, Madara’s air of mischief would have given him away. As it was, the first pass of his fingers went nearly unnoticed. Madara very quickly found that yes, Tobirama was ticklish. He also found that no, Tobirama did _not_ like that, for all that he howled with laughter before he could recover enough to retaliate. 

They were both still laughing when Tobirama threw Madara down onto his face, then pinned him there, with his legs clamped around Madara’s thighs, and an elbow in Madara’s back. The first stinging slap on his ass showed him exactly how Tobirama meant to retaliate. 

Madara froze at the sensation, torn between outrage and hilarity, and utter disbelief that Tobirama _spanked_ him. The second smack had him trying to squirm free, but Tobirama had him pinned far too well. “Oh no you don’t,” Madara complained, then stiffened at a third smack, and Tobirama’s promising chuckle. 

“I think someone’s earned a little punishment,” Tobirama told him, then struck again. That was when Madara started trying to escape in earnest. Tobirama struck harder and faster until Madara stopped fighting, and by that point, Madara was gasping and groaning, less struggling than grinding what had been a flagging erection into Tobirama’s thigh in time with each smack. 

“Fuck, Tobirama!” The desperation in that whine had him burying his face in the mattress in embarrassment, but he couldn’t stop the reaction he was having, nor the noises escaping him when Tobirama didn’t stop. This shouldn’t feel good. It _hurt_ , but he sounded like he was getting fucked. And, fuck, but that was a good thought. “Please, fuck, please..!” 

“Yes? Tell me what you want.” Tobirama’s voice came out thick and breathy, nowhere near as unaffected as he was trying to sound. He paused to stroke Madara’s stinging ass, giving him another smack when he pushed back into the touch. 

‘“Ngh. Fuck.” Words, he needed words. Madara took a shuddering breath, jerked under the force of another smack. “Fuck me. Please... I want you to... Fuck!” 

There was a soft curse, before Tobirama released him from his hold. “Lay down, in whatever position you want, but choose carefully.” 

Part of Madara just wanted to collapse face first into the bed spread. A bigger part of him still wanted to watch Tobirama, so he twisted around to lay on his back, watching as Tobirama pulled a lotion jar from the night stand, and... “Fuck,” Madara groaned, as Tobirama put on a pair of glasses - not the same ones as before, but similar enough in how they framed his face. He swore again when Tobirama pushed his legs apart. “Gods fuck, just hurry up.” 

He moaned into Tobirama’s mouth when Tobirama leaned in for a desperate kiss, squirmed when fingers skimmed through the hair on his belly. Tobirama’s hands slid around to palm Madara’s thighs, and hitch them up around his hips, and he broke the kiss to murmur appreciatively, “You always manage to surprise me.” 

Madara’s thighs clamped down on Tobirama’s hips at the feeling of cool, lotion slicked fingers pressing between his cheeks. The contrast of the lotion against skin still flaming hot and stinging had him gasping and digging his own fingers into Tobirama’s shoulders. “Burns, fuck fuck fuck, please...” Tobirama’s hand stilled. Started to pull away. And Madara shook his head, because no, that wasn’t what he wanted at all. “No no, don’t you fucking dare! I need you, please!” 

Tobirama let out a deep groan, sealed their lips together again, his glasses knocking against Madara’s nose, his fingers stroking and seeking Madara’s entrance. Madara choked on his own breath when the tip of one breached him, teasingly shallow. Mumbled something incoherent against Tobirama’s mouth just as Tobirama sucked Madara’s bottom lip between his teeth and bit lightly. 

“Faster..! Gods damn it, Tobirama, I need you to..!” Two fingers pressing in, even so shallowly, drove a sharp cry from his throat, and his legs tightened around Tobirama’s waist. “D-deeper, damnit! Tobirama..!” And he was muffled again by Tobirama’s mouth, as those teasing fingers suddenly pushed all the way in. Tobirama muffled his shout before pulling back to pant. Smiled against the edge of Madara’s mouth when all Madara could do was whine for “More, more, gods fucking more damnit, I can’t, I need you, please!” 

“Patience,” Tobirama purred, and Madara had already lost all he had of that. If the way Tobirama’s hands trembled meant anything, Tobirama was nearing the end of his patience as well. It wasn’t until Madara’s mind was blank but for the pleas and obscenities falling from his mouth, and the need to rock down onto Tobirama’s fingers, that Tobirama finally drew his hand away. 

Madara let out a garbled wail at the feeling of Tobirama’s cock pressing into him, and Tobirama murmured soothing platitudes against his lips that he could barely even hear. Not with that pressure, and the way his ass still stung. Not with how it felt when Tobirama’s hands cupped his ass and squeezed. He choked on another cry, twisting in Tobirama’s hold and turning to rub his face against the bedding. 

For the first few thrusts, Tobirama rocked in and out almost gently. That didn’t last long. Between one gasped curse and another, he lifted one of Madara’s legs to his shoulder and picked up the pace. The change of angle was effective, and Madara clenched around him as best he could, bright sparks of pleasure flaring in his spine and gut until suddenly, the intensity was too much, and he came with a strangled shout. Then everything went hazy and distant, and he was dimly aware of Tobirama letting out his own cry before darkness overwhelmed him. 

When he came back to, he was laying flat, with Tobirama’s hands stroking up and down his flank, and kisses being pressed against his throat. Otherwise, Tobirama was an unmoving but affectionate lump, occasionally murmuring praise and endearments. As soon as Madara stirred, he pulled back to smirk down at him, with an utterly pleased cat-in-the-cream look, glasses askew from his activities. 

Madara found that it’s extremely difficult to scowl post-coitus, especially when all he wanted to do is stare at his lover. 

“You passed out,” Tobirama murmured, then kissed him before he could complain. 

He really _should_ complain, but... He lost the thought too easily, mind pleasantly fuzzy. It was such an unfamiliar feeling, but he was going to bask in it for as long as Tobirama let him... 

* * *

**Adventures of a Forgotten Fox**

Gouawae raised its head in alarm when it realized that the bath was empty. Madara-sama and Yako-sama were just there! They had been noisy, playing mating games, then there were _gone_. Gouawae climbed out of the purse where Killer Jade continued snoozing, all the way up the edge of the furo to look inside. 

They were still gone. Gouawae sniffed the air and there was a hint of magic - what humans called chakra, for some reason - in the air. It smelled like gold and water and lightning. It was Yako-sama’s magic. Yako-sama was apparently more powerful than Gouawae had realized if he could teleport. He was surely a fitting mate for Madara-sama. 

But that didn’t help Gouawae. Gouawae couldn’t be in more than one place at a time, and wherever Yako-sama took Madara-sama, it wasn’t _here_. Gouawae darted back and forth along the furo’s edge, only once slipping on the wet part. Then it jumped down to chivvy its sleeping partner out of her bag. 

“Come noble steed, Gouawae must find Madara-sama!” Its voice echoed in the chamber, and it blinked up at the ceiling, fascinated by the acoustics of the room. But it had a task in mind, so it pushed at Killer Jade until she let out a rabbit’s equivalent of a sigh and moved along with Gouawae. 

Perhaps it shouldn’t have been so surprising to find that they were in Yako-sama’s room, still playing. Gouawae cocks its head, listening for any true distress to enter Madara-sama’s voice - it doesn’t, but Gouawae is certain that Madara-sama will be sore in the morning. Now that it knew that Madara-sama and Yako-sama are alright, if a little busy, it decided that it may as well do a patrol of the house before putting Killer Jade to bed. 

It needs to keep Madara-sama as safe as it can, and no nasty shadow demon is entering Yako-sama’s house under Gouawae and Killer Jade’s watch! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi no Kuni: Fire Country!
> 
> Congrats if you can connect any of the expys to the characters from which they were originally drawn. (Note: I use a lot of expys rather than OCs, but I do have the occasional OC.)
> 
> Sora: “sky” - single kanji, “昊”. (He’s an expy of a Final Fantasy character.)  
> Tamotsu: “protect” - single kanji, “保“. (Also a Final Fantasy expy.)  
> Tobirama’s mother: Her name is Kasumi, written with a single kanji for “mist”, “霞”. (Expy from Ranma ½.)  
> Fuuko: “wind fox”, “風狐” - the kanji used are the same either way. (Bleach expy.)  
> Tōshō: "looking east", "東照" (Another Bleach expy.)  
> Yoshihiko: “clever prince”, “意彦”.  
> Komaki: “fox book/scroll”, “狐巻” - one of Kasumi’s children, and although the name is typically feminine, he’s her second oldest son. (Death Note expy.)


	3. Worse Things Than You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plotting, politics and painful pieces of the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter did not want to get finished. Literally had a week and a half to work on it, and here I am, coming in just under my deadline. (So sorry if the next one ends up late. x’D)
> 
> Also, I would like to say I’m sorry if I make anyone cry. (Only I’m really not. Let me know if you cry. I can’t ever tell if I hit that kind of poignance...)

Tobirama should probably get back up and return to work, or go to sleep and recharge, but... It’s far more enjoyable to watch Madara’s blissed out sleeping face. He could be spending this time turning over the information Komaki had found for him, but instead, he lay there, basking in Madara’s warmth. Madara had been uncharacteristically quiet after sex, but it didn’t seem to be a bad thing - more like Tobirama managed to blow his mind, because he was all sloppy smiles and hazily returned kisses. And he positively melted while Tobirama brushed his hair so that he could braid it for sleep. 

Thinking too long on it made him want to wake Madara back up with insistent kisses, so he can press his fingers right back into him until he was writhing under Tobirama again, ready for another round. It took an act of will not to take himself in hand instead, and bring himself off watching Madara sleep. Why was sex with Madara so damned good that it made him forget himself? 

Even though he was tired and should find sleep easily, it wouldn’t come. His thoughts were moving too fast, flowing from the pleasing aspects of his newly revived sex life, to the mission he was studying for and how it connected to his lover. He was also finding that he didn’t really want to think of said mission while laying next to Madara, as if his thoughts would rouse Madara, or bring him ill favored dreams. 

Most of the information Komaki found for him was from the Uchiha clan archives. The copies in the relatively new village archives were heavily redacted, and Tobirama found it interesting to compare the redacted copies with Komaki’s transcriptions of the originals. Komaki was thorough, and had given him copies of a variety of potentially connected reports as well, taken from other clans from the appropriate area. 

All of it pointed at this Yoshihiko having a sport bloodline - or possibly a random mutation, but Tobirama would put money on it breeding true. Especially research money. As for how the ability worked, the reports weren’t all that clear. There was only one word Tobirama could come up with that felt accurate: Charm. It was like he had some kind of chakra enhanced charm, with which he drew in people. And then... The reports weren’t clear about this, either, but it sounded like he used it to gain followers in his cult. 

Unfortunately, he seemed to get some kind of feedback from his ability, and those who were unaffected were kicked out of the cult immediately. Tobirama asked Komaki to run numbers for him, because he needed a list of those most likely to succeed in actually assassinating the man, but he thought that he already knew what the results were going to be. Because this was going to require a very specific skill set, including the ability to act completely contrary to one’s emotions, plus... 

They needed someone that could catch his interest, which meant three things: A striking appearance or beauty, high intelligence and likely, the gift of gab - which Tobirama doesn’t have, but he can fake it well enough. They may also need a special sort of lure, but Tobirama wasn’t sure if he had anything the man would want. He would need to improvise. 

Next to him, Madara shifted, reaching out and dragging Tobirama close, until they were wrapped up together. “I can hear you thinking,” he said, not sounding awake at all, to Tobirama’s delight. “Go to sleep.” 

As if Madara’s warmth wrapped around him was exactly what he needed, it was easy to fall asleep after that. 

* * *

Madara woke only a few minutes after Tobirama, and the first thing he did was reach for him, with a cute, sloppy little smile. The second thing he did was say, “Fuck ow?!” and scowl in confusion when Tobirama laughed. The scowl melted, just a little, when Tobirama leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

“I can heal it if you want,” Tobirama said, letting green iryo-chakra light up his fingers briefly. 

“Don’t waste energy like that,” Madara grumbled, and promptly rolled over to plant his face in a pillow. From behind which popped up something long and orange. 

“Good morning, little one,” Tobirama said, petting the fox as it stretched. 

“Good morning, Yako-sama! Good morning, Madara-sama!” Gouawae chirped. It cocked its tiny head at Madara, then hopped up onto his back. “Gouawae knew Madara-sama would be sore this morning, so Gouawae prepared!” 

“Prepared what?” Madara asked, unburying his face. 

Tobirama watched as Gouawae made a gesture like it was showing him something, and then it said, “Traditional kitsune-hari! Madara-sama will feel all better once Gouawae is done!” 

Needles. It had to be needles. Tiny, fox sized acupuncture needles, too small for Tobirama to see more than a glint of. “Gouawae, are you forgetting that Madara’s human? The kitsune method might not be appropriate.” 

Gouawae paused, let out a tiny little gasp. “Yako-sama’s right. Kitsune-hari won’t work. Madara-sama’s not built right. Gouawae isn’t as good at ningen-hari, but Gouawae will try. But first, Gouawae needs bigger needles.” 

“Needles?” Madara turned in place to see Gouawae plucking something from his back. “Ow? What are you doing!” 

“Gouawae is pulling the kitsune-hari needles. Then Gouawae will get human sized ones.” Seemingly getting the last one, the fox darted off, and both Madara and Tobirama watched it go. 

“Was Gouawae sticking me with tiny needles?” 

“Mhmm.” Tobirama bit back a laugh, fairly certain Madara wouldn’t appreciate it. “It also said that it’s coming back with bigger ones.” The real question in Tobirama’s mind is where the fox would get them. 

Madara huffed then pressed his face back into the pillow. “I don’t know why I was so surprised to wake up feeling like my ass is a flaming drum.” 

This time, the laugh got free. “That’s an evocative description. You seemed to enjoy it though.” Which was the only reason he kept at it so long. Madara’s reaction had been... unexpected, but so very gratifying. That first shocked groan, the way he was writhing against Tobirama’s thigh by the end... Tobirama enjoyed it quite a bit as well. 

Embarrassed silence, and the back of Madara’s neck was turning visibly red through the escaped locks of hair. He was saved from needing to reply by Gouawae streaking back into the room, leaping and landing in the middle of his back with a long, paper wrapped bundle in its arms. “Gouawae will now proceed!” the fox announced, and the bundle spilled open, showing a bunch of shiny, brand new, acupuncture needles. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Tobirama replied, pretending not to hear the muffled “Ow!” when the first needle went in. “I still have a lot of work to do. Madara... Remember you’re returning to mission rotation in two days. Try to make the most of them. Relax, sleep in, but try not to be late to the council meeting this afternoon. We can resume our talks this evening.” 

Madara let out a muffled mumble of agreement, lifting a hand and lazily waving him off. 

Tobirama paused in the middle of slipping out of bed, glancing back at Madara, whose back was completely uncovered, right down to his ass, which was just starting to show other colors than last night’s beaten pink. “I can still heal it if you like...” 

An exasperated sigh, and Madara turned to look at him. “Go, do your thing. I wouldn’t be much of a shinobi if I can’t handle flaming drum ass.” 

Tobirama chuckled, then got up to get ready for the day. 

* * *

He put in minimal office hours, and spent most of the day working with Komaki. Komaki had the owl eyed look of someone who spent too much time indoors, reading files. Currently, he worked exclusively for the Senju, filtering through reports for relevant data for missions. Technically, he didn’t count as a shinobi, as he was too valuable to send out into the field for certain reasons that were no longer relevant with the founding of the village - namely, the fact that his father was from a particular clan. Instead, he was valuable for other reasons: an eidetic memory, the ability to correlate absurd amounts of data, and a curious knack for pattern recognition that was far beyond anything Tobirama had ever seen elsewhere. 

Of all of his mother’s children, Komaki was probably the one most like him at the core. More interested in accumulating knowledge than almost anything else, unfalteringly loyal to those he loves, but forever outside the realm of normalcy. Komaki took it to an entirely different extreme, never bothering to seek information via experimentation, rather through reading everything he could get his sticky fingers on. Accumulating more data, about almost anything, seemed to be the be all end all of his desires. Thankfully, it was an obsession that could be used. 

“The second closest match represents a fifty-seven percent drop in probable success rate,” Komaki told him, sounding both bland and frustrated in a way only he ever seemed to manage. “I don’t have data on anyone who has a better statistical probability of success. All of the potential candidates for the mission lack one or more of the necessary qualities to pass Yoshihiko’s guard.” 

“Sixty-eight percent,” Tobirama sighed. He didn’t like the odds Komaki was giving him, if only because said odds were rarely inaccurate. When they were, it was because of a lack of much needed data. “I don’t like it.” But he was resigned. It _needed_ to be done. 

“I need more data,” Komaki replied, scowling at the mess of scrolls in between them, and pulling his legs up into the chair to wrap his arms around. “In lieu of that, frosted castella cakes. With strawberries glazed with mizuame.” 

That... really sounded good right now, but Tobirama countered, “Taiyaki.” 

“Chocolate.” 

“That’s a horrible cheat,” he replied. Chocolate was both expensive and difficult to find. It was also hard to find anything that tasted better than what their mother could do with it. “Mitarashi dango.” Because if there was anything that could compete with chocolate, a well made mitarashi sauce was one of those things. 

Komaki sighed, collapsing forward in his chair. “But it’s chewy. Maybe put the sauce on castella cakes?” 

“I would just as soon put it on grilled fish,” Tobirama snorted, and started boxing the scrolls. “If we keep at this, we’ll just be spinning in our wheels. I’ll have to talk Yasutora into approving the mission tomorrow. And then... I’ll have to rely on the odds being in my favor.” 

“A secondary mission,” Komaki states, like a thought is dawning on him. “One that will give you an excuse to be in the area. It will give you a three percent increase in probable success rate.” 

“Seventy-one percent,” Tobirama mused. It still didn’t sound all that good, but... He’s had missions with worse odds. He’ll live. He probably won’t get out unscathed, but he’ll live. And he’ll succeed. Because he won’t allow any other outcome. 

* * *

Tobirama had been thinking about sending a clone after Madara if he wasn’t already on his way to the meeting by a certain time, but it turned out to be unnecessary. Although the man was still clearly feeling last night, much to Tobirama’s amusement, he took his seat with minimal squirming. Even when Tobirama reached across the table to nudge his knee with a foot, all he did was glare halfheartedly back. 

The Hyuuga were discussed in brief - their delegates having been sent back with the village’s conditions of acceptance. No one was completely satisfied with said conditions, making it a classic compromise. The most important things got through, and for Tobirama, that was enough. Further negotiations could always come later. 

When it came time for new business, old Sasuke brought up one of the many points that Tobirama was also concerned about. Financial security for the still developing village. As it was, they were dependant almost entirely on military contracts from the young daimyo and the shogun for money. Sasuke’s suggestion brought immediate protest from around the table. 

Madara was the one to call for order - technically Hashirama’s job, but he was too busy gaping at Sasuke. “At least hear him out,” Madara said, and eventually even Kouga was quietly sulking, but listening. 

“Thank you,” said Sasuke, with an ironic twist to his smile. Tobirama had to agree. It was a bit ridiculous having Madara as the one to call a meeting back to order. Usually he was one of the ones disrupting things. “I only mean that we should sell outdated technologies. Nothing that can be used against us, just things that would make civilian life easier.” 

“Like lightbulbs,” Tobirama pitched in distractedly. Lightbulbs were uncommon, but imminently useful, easily converted to the electric power which was easier to make accessible to civilians than the seal powered work that shinobi often used. “Better plumbing. While most of what we develop has some military purpose, much of it is perfectly safe to sell elsewhere, especially infrastructural developments.” 

“If we don’t have some kind of backup, the village’s coffers will run dry as soon as the daimyo’s eyes turn away and he stops opening his pockets.” That got some grumbles, because many of the clans worried about that. Tobirama, personally, had his doubts about it happening. Hakuoh was an honorable young man, nothing like his father. Sasuke sighed, “This would also be easier if we had a proper bank. Clan neutral, working for the village...” 

Sora scoffed loudly. “No self-respecting financial institution would set up shop in Konoha. That would mean associating with _shinobi_. And those who _would_ have reputations of their own, for cheating their custom.” 

Tobirama was about to make the one suggestion that was sure to get Hashirama arguing. They’ve had arguments about it in the past. All because Tobirama used one dirty word: “Blackmail.” He didn’t bother to say it loudly, and already Hashirama’s back was stiffening in outrage. 

“Tobirama, you know we can’t just do that...” 

“Let’s at least hear him out,” Madara said, loudly overriding Hashirama’s protest. “I’m not above resorting to blackmail to make sure I’ve got an actual bank account. Are you trying to say that _you_ are?” 

“If we’re using blackmail, we can’t actually trust them to hold our interests,” Hashirama protested. It was a good argument, but it was the same argument he used every time this came up. 

“I’d like to hear it,” Sora interjected, and beside him, Tamotsu made a sign that was an unholy combination of “agreed” and “fuck you”. 

“Agreed,” stated Yasutora. 

Kouga stood, and aggressively leaned toward Hashirama, slamming a fist down on the table. “Fuck, yeah, let’s hear it. Hearing him out can’t be worse than _not having a fucking bank_.” 

“Hokage-sama,” said Sasuke, tone cheerfully wry, “you seem to be overruled.” 

Unsurprisingly, Hashirama slumped down and pouted at that, and waved a hand at Tobirama for him to say his piece. 

“Thank you, Hokage-sama,” Tobirama said, just for how it made his brother twitch. Then he stood to say his piece. “I understand that blackmail is risky; however, I have a list of candidates in my office, who are honorable by shinobi standards, but have secrets that other civilians will find objectionable. Little things, like having an inappropriate mistress, or lying about what’s in their pants,” because civilians were so stuck on gender definitions, and often women had to hide their gender to get into certain types of businesses. “My intention was to keep their secrets, but have them open a bank here in the village, where they’ll be protected for so long as they deal honorably with us.” 

“That sounds... fair,” Sora said, haltingly. “I’m not sure what Hokage-sama’s problem is.” He glanced at Hashirama from the corner of his eye, a frown creasing his forehead. 

“I’m guessing the words ‘blackmail’ and ‘civilian,’” Tobirama replied, aslo glancing at his brother. Hashirama shrank in his seat. “But he never actually heard me out.” 

“That sounds like it would work quite well,” said Sasuke. “When did you initially come up with this?” 

“Before the Founding,” he replied. “We were discussing village necessities.” 

“To be fair,” Hashirama interjected, “Tobirama has a bad habit of making _everything_ sound bad. You should have heard what he said when he was suggesting we get together for family dinner. He sounded like he wanted to make sure I wasn’t an infiltrator.” 

“That’s fair,” Tobirama agreed. “I _do_ make things sound bad. I probably could have started with something better than ‘Let’s blackmail some bankers.’” 

“See?” Hashirama whined. “That’s why I shut you down. It sounded _bad_. I knew that there was probably some reason behind it, but it sounded terrible. Why would you say it like that?” 

“Because that’s how I was thinking about it,” he said, rolling his eyes. Then he blinked as a cup went sailing past his face. Hashirama ducked. 

“Do you know how much work that would have saved me?!” Sasuke let out a loud growl, hefting another cup, which he threw as well. This time, Hashirama caught it. “We could have had a bank. It would have cut my workload by three quarters. You. I can’t even.” Making another aggravated sound, he pointed at Hashirama. “I need to take a break. Someone. Write me a proposal for this. I just. Ugh. And you!” He turned toward Tobirama, who stared at him, bemused. “If you have any more ideas like this, present them to whoever’s relevant, and let them write the proposal. Because I know you can’t help being an ass. I’ve been dealing with your budget proposals for the last three years. If that doesn’t teach you about a man, I don’t know what does.” Then he turned and stomped out of the room. 

“There goes all the budget proposals any of us were planning,” Sora pointed out. “Is any one of us _not_ in favor of the banking proposition?” 

Silence. Then Hashirama piped up, “With Sasuke out, we’re going to have to table the rest of the new business for next time. So, ah, I guess we’re adjourned.” More than a couple of the other clan heads gave him dirty looks at that. 

Tobirama wasn’t one of them. He was just glad to be done for the day. 

* * *

Tobirama had a few errands to perform before heading home, so he wasn’t all that surprised that Madara was back before him. It was a bit strange, he thought, that Madara so often chose to stay over, but he recalled Madara telling him that he couldn’t sleep at home. It was probably being alone that was too much for him, and while he didn’t understand, Tobirama could sympathize. There were times he didn’t want to be alone, either. 

The scent of deep fried chicken and shoyu was apparent once he entered the house, and his mouth watered. Madara had taken to doing the better part of the cooking almost right away. While he was no master chef, everything he did make, he made surprisingly well. It made Tobirama wonder if this was what it was like to have a wife. 

That thought had him grinning to himself, and he resolved to keep it in mind for when it would have the most positive impact on his own mood. Bringing it up when he wanted to set Madara off would be best. And now that he was smelling for it, he could smell that Madara also made tea - the guricha, as he seemed to have liked it. Hopefully he could make tea as well as he made food. 

There was a covered bowl at his seat, and another at Madara’s, with a plate full of tempura covered vegetables and two small bowls of steaming white rice in between. The teapot wasn’t at the table yet, and as he could sense that Madara was in the kitchen, he settled into his seat to wait, the bag he had been carrying clinking at his side. And take a peek under the cover of his bowl, to be greeted with a stronger version of the smell that greeted him when he came inside. 

He almost dropped the cover when Madara spoke up, just entering the living room with the teapot. “I was hoping you meant you’d be back early tonight.” 

“I am,” he agreed, something tightening in his chest. Tobirama wasn’t sure if he liked how much Madara cared about his comings and goings, but... It meant that his presence was _wanted_ and that was... nice. “You know you don’t need to cook for me,” he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

Madara just rolled his eyes and sat down. “Of course I don’t. I already told you, I want to. Besides, if I didn’t, you’d be eating nothing but bare essentials and sugar.” 

Tobirama pouted, but followed suit when Madara took the cover off of his own bowl, letting the steam free. “I can make more complicated things.” 

“I never said you couldn’t. I just know you won’t.” Their budding argument stalled on “Itadakimasu!” 

Udon, with slices of fried chicken on top, half of a boiled egg, green onions, sliced mushrooms and peppers, strips of aburagé and two naruto on one side, in a thin shoyu broth... It was, unsurprisingly, delicious. It was also rich in much needed calories, so after the initial taste, Tobirama dug in with enthusiasm. 

Afterwards, when they were both full, and half-heartedly picking at the remainder of the rice, Tobirama brought up something that he had been thinking about for a good part of the day. “Since we were planning to talk again, this evening, I thought...” He sighed, pushing one lone grain of rice around his bowl. “I’ve been thinking, ever since you told me about... that man. Our arrangement hasn’t exactly been even.” 

Although Tobirama didn’t look up, he could feel Madara’s stare. “It isn’t... Even isn’t what we’re looking for. There’s nothing equal in that kind of thing. It’s just different extremes of bad stuff. If it makes you feel better, talking about it helped. I never really talked about it before, not beyond what my father made me tell him.” 

Tobirama glanced up long enough to give Madara a distracted smile. “I meant, you shared something very important to you, and... I haven’t done the same. I’m trying to say, I’m willing to try. Tonight.” He pulled a bottle out of the bag he’d brought home, setting it down with a click. “And I even brought something to make the story easier to tell.” 

Madara gave the bottle a wide eyed look. “That’s not sake.” 

“Midori liqueur,” he replied. “I assumed it would be better to have a stronger drink, whichever story you choose.” 

“You want me to choose what you tell me?” Madara asked, frowning. 

Tobirama nodded sharply. “I have... two stories that have impacted me heavily. The first: The full story behind the scar on my wrist. The second... How I met the shogun.” 

There was a motion behind him, and Tobirama turned to find the couch he kept hidden in the corner - under a subtle genjustu that distracted the eye away - dripping pillows, and Hashirama climbing out of it. “Give me a second,” the idiot said, working his way upright. “I was just... I do _not_ want to be here for this. So I’m going to just... evict myself.” 

“Put the pillows back before you go,” Tobirama snapped. And Hashirama quickly did so. 

“You know, I’m absolutely certain you two aren’t going to be in the mood to defile each other after _either_ of those stories, so...” 

“Get the fuck out anija,” Tobirama growled, and Hashirama did, waving and grinning nervously as he exited the room. 

“If you want to go drinking later, Madara, come find me!” 

“Get the fuck out anija!” And the front door clicked shut to Tobirama’s sighing. “Some days I really hate being related to him.” 

“Understandable,” Madara said, shaking his head. “So. You want me to choose which of those... stories you tell me.” 

“Yes,” Tobirama agreed, uncorking the midori liqueur. Both stories were equally undesirable, for different reasons. One, he would be recounting _rape_ \- something far more unsettling than his and Madara’s first encounter. The second, however... 

“Alright. Tell me how you met Kyouraku Shunsui.” 

* * *

Tobirama was nine when he first lost one of his brothers. Kawarama was barely in the grave when his father gave him his first long mission away from home. He was part of a group meant to guard the Kyouraku family, the noble clan the Senju were sworn to. Tobirama would guard the youngest heir, disguised as a playmate. 

The fortress was called Kōyōnoha no Toride - Fortress of Burning Autumn Leaves. It was the crown of the Kyouraku Province, and had never been taken, which made it an obvious place for the noble family to retreat when one of their neighbors tried to subjugate them. 

Tobirama didn’t think much of Shunsui at first. He was a loud, pimply brat who kept trying to pick fights with Tobirama, mostly out of boredom. He had a big, ugly looking mastiff that didn’t seem to do much of anything except follow him closely enough to be extremely annoying. 

Other than the two of them, there were ten other kids in the fortress who were younger than twelve. Which became relevant when Tobirama took it upon himself to keep them as safe as he could as well, after the well was poisoned by someone inside the fortress, and the food stores were ruined in a similar manner. The double agent was quickly caught and executed, but the damage was done. 

It was hard to keep to the bare bones of the story, leaving out anything about Miaki-hime and her tasks. How his first kill wasn’t under his father’s watchful eye, as it should have been, rather a sacrifice for the protection of the kami trapped in the fortress’s shrine. 

He did mention the kill, however, for other reasons: By that point, they had already had to kill Shunsui’s mastiff, and several other children’s pets to keep from starving. But that meat hadn’t lasted long, and as horrifying as it was, the man at his feet... was full of meat. His attempt at carving the meat from the man’s bones was as messy as carving the animals had been, and he managed to salvage less of the meat that he would have preferred, but it was enough to feed twelve scrawny children. 

The meat had been not unlike pork, seasoned poorly with salt and stolen herbs, and most of the children didn’t know or care where he had gotten it. But Shunsui had watched Tobirama’s ashen face, and the way he could barely force himself to eat his share and _knew_. 

The second kill was much easier. Easier to eat as well. 

He can’t quite make himself clarify why he had killed Lord Kyouraku, only that it was a ruse, a distraction for an enemy long past accepting a graceful surrender - the rest being that it was another sacrifice for the kami. 

He wasn’t expected to make it out, not after having been seen as the one throwing the old lord’s head from the battlements into the army down below, screaming, “No lord reigns here!” like a lesser Aonyōbō. Admittedly, he looked the part at the time. His hair had grown out, and he had donned a white gown over his armor, so that he would look like something otherworldly. 

To the surprise of his father’s surviving shinobi, he did survive, and so did all the other children. They made their way across the country, to the where the old shogun’s ship made port, and begged his aid. Lord Hakuren had been a kind man, and promised to shelter the children for as long as needed, and eventually, took Shunsui on as his successor. 

And Shunsui, before Tobirama returned home, gifted him with something that could be considered inappropriate, although it was Shunsui’s to do with as he liked: The Kyouraku family sword, which he was asked to honorably wield in battle. And even though it was only his tenth birthday, and the sword was far too large for him to wield properly, Tobirama took it and he did as Shunsui asked. 

He returned home just in time to lose Itama, and in less than a year, due to the massacre within the fortress walls, it became known as Benihi no Toride - the Blood Red Fortress. 

* * *

Madara was crying. Not theatrically, like Hashirama did, not loudly, or obnoxiously, but full on dripping from his face and the occasional snuffling as he tried to avoid wiping snot in Killer Jade’s fur. At some point, they had moved to the back porch to work on the bottles of alcohol, and... 

It didn’t feel better. Tobirama just felt numb. That was more than he’d ever said of it in one sitting, and he still didn’t tell all of it. He skipped over a _lot_ , because it was too long of a story otherwise. “Are you alright?” he asked Madara, and Madara muffled a sob against the rabbit. 

Gouawae peaked out over his collar, but said nothing, its eyes wide and sorrowful. “I should be asking _you_ that. Fuck. You said worse things happened to you, and I. I feel like I didn’t take that seriously enough. Do you want to hold Killer Jade?” 

Tobirama blinked at him, held up the bottle of midori liqueur he was nursing. “That’s what I have this for. You should try it.” 

“Too much alcohol turns me into a moping wreck. If I have more than I already have, I’m literally going to cry on you all night, and then I’ll have ten times the usual hangover.” Madara scooted his cushion closer to Tobirama, said, “I’m going to hug you now,” and threw an arm around him. 

Gouawae darted out and licked Tobirama’s cheek, before ducking back into Madara’s collar. 

“I know you skipped the worst parts,” Madara murmured, his breath tickling Tobirama’s neck. “I would have too, except for me, the worst part was what I don’t remember.” 

“For me, it could have been worse,” Tobirama pointed out. “We could have been eating allies.” 

“Speaking of things being worse... while I was with Yoshihiko’s cult,” Madara said, swallowing thickly. “One of the things I don’t remember...” 

“Yes?” Tobirama prompted, knowing he wasn’t going to like where this was going. 

“I don’t know how I got the Mangekyo.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hari: Japanese word for acupuncture. Apparently, Japanese acupuncture differs greatly from Chinese acupuncture, though they originally come from the same source. For one thing, Japanese acupuncture doesn’t require the use of herbs, like traditional Chinese acupuncture. They also use finer needles, and don’t apply them as deeply. From what I’ve read, it’s well praised, both for effectiveness and the fact that it doesn’t cause as much discomfort as Chinese acupuncture.
> 
> Ningen: Human. (Seemed appropriate to use in this context.)
> 
> Mizuame: A type of clear syrup made from converting starch to sugars, the name literally translates to “water candy”. It can be used to give wagashi (sweet tea snacks) a shine, eaten similarly to honey, or used as a main ingredient making sweets. It’s usually made from glutinous rice and malt, or sweet potatoes. The rice and malt version is called mugi mizuame, and is supposedly more flavorful than the kind made from sweet potatoes.
> 
> Taiyaki: Anko filled (usually) cakes made in the shape of Tai (snapper). Tai are considered lucky, and the cakes are most popular in spring.
> 
> Shoyu: Soy sauce flavored broth. It’s very common for both udon and ramen.
> 
> Midori liqueur: Sweet melon liqueur. For those who don’t know the difference between liquor and liqueur. Liquor is a distilled alcohol, made after the process of fermentation is complete. Liqueur is the next step - flavored with fruits, herbs, nuts, spices or creams and often heavily sweetened. Liqueur tends to be popular as an after dinner drink. This specific liqueur is sold in the US as just “Midori,” and it’s some tasty stuff for those of you who are drinking age and like sweet booze.
> 
> Aonyōbō: A female spirit that lurks in an abandoned imperial palace.
> 
> Names (I’m not putting in the kanji right now, because I’m too tired):  
> Kouga: “Steel Fang” (1/2 Inuyasha and 1/2 Bleach expy)  
> Hakuoh: “White Phoenix” - the current daimyo (Avatar: The Last Airbender expy)  
> Yasutora: “Peaceful Tiger” (Bleach expy, he’s changed a bit from the original, but mostly kept the name)  
> Shunsui: “Spring Water” (Bleach expy, grabbed fully formed, name and all)  
> Miaki-hime: “Beautiful Autumn-Princess” - the kami from the fortress  
> Hakuren: “White Lotus” - he’s the former shogun, and the current daimyo’s uncle. I used a feminine spelling, for irony’s sake. (Avatar: The Last Airbender expy)


	4. In Which Izuna Gets Screen Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama leaves for his mission, and Madara’s hand is finally forced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite a cliffhanger at the end, but it’s obviously not a conclusion.

Madara and Tobirama sat together in silence for a time after Madara’s little confession. In a strange mimicry of Madara’s offer of Killer Jade after Tobirama’s frankly horrifying story, Tobirama just handed him the bottle of bright green liqueur, and Madara downed about a third of it in one go. It was sweet and syrupy, tasting only vaguely like the melons it was supposedly flavored with. 

He returned it with a grimace, deciding that it wasn’t on his preferred list of drinks. If he was going to drink something sweet, he would rather umeshu - or hachimitsu umeshu, with its hint of honey. It was strong enough that such a deep draught left him feeling it, though. Umeshu wasn’t often as strong. 

“How does one typically gain the Mangekyo Sharingan?” Tobirama asked, after passing the liqueur back to him. “It seems long ago, the first time I saw it, but... I’ve never asked the right person about its... development.” 

Madara took another draught, more cautious than the first. The liqueur was still sickly sweet on his tongue, but... tolerable. “What do you know about the Sharingan?” 

“Anything your clan has written of it,” Tobirama replied, both tone and smile wry. “Since we were enemies for so long, it can’t be much of a surprise to know that the Senju have collected quite a bit of Uchiha writings. However, there are only the vaguest implications of a higher level of Sharingan, beyond the three tomoe version your clan often reaches.” 

Madara turned that over in his head, coming to the conclusion that there was more that Tobirama wasn’t saying. “And what did you speculate?” 

“There was too much available on the subject to narrow it down to anything useful. After we encountered the Mangekyo, it was clear that the information we had wasn’t enough.” Tobirama made an unhappy face, but forged on, unhesitating, but attempting to be circumspect. “With the later evolution of your eyes, it seemed clear to me that it can likely evolve even further. How, I am uncertain. But we never found out how your eyes evolved to begin with.” 

“Strong emotions,” Madara replied dryly, weighing the pros and cons of saying more, while leaning into Tobirama’s side. On one hand, it felt a little like a betrayal. On the other, Tobirama’s insight could be valuable, and unless they become enemies again, he won’t use it against the Uchiha. He took a deep, calming breath, catching the scent of Tobirama - mostly that damned lotion, but that was more soothing than anything else at the moment - mixed with the fruity essence of the liqueur, and sighed. “The first activation of the Sharingan requires fear and determination. The tomoe evolve further the stronger one’s determination.” 

Tobirama melted against his side, nuzzling into his hair. That was as soothing as the scent of the lotion, as grounding as the feeling of soft rabbit fur beneath his fingers. “That makes sense. After all, I was there when you activated it for the first time, and all I felt from you was determination and grief.” 

“Grief will do it to,” Madara agreed, nudging the bottle back into Tobirama’s hands. “Intense grief and guilt, for the Mangekyo. I may not remember how I got mine, but...” Izuna told him how he got _his_. Suddenly, Madara’s mouth was dry, and he drew Killer Jade up to his nose, burying his face in her soft fur. His voice was wet and cracking when he continued, “The second evolution of the Mangekyo took Izuna’s eyes. He. Told me to take them. And. I couldn’t say ‘no’. I _couldn’t_.” 

“Fuck,” Tobirama whispered, softly enough that Madara wasn’t certain he meant to be heard. But he turned just enough to wrap his arms around Madara. For some reason, getting a hug from someone like Tobirama, who he had never expected to be the most physically affectionate of people, cracked something inside of his chest, and next thing he knew, his breath caught in his throat, and his eyes were streaming. 

“Gods damn it,” he groaned into Tobirama’s shoulder. As if crying wasn’t bad enough, it had to be Tobirama giving comfort, stroking his back and just letting him cry on him. Izuna would hate this. He would hate Madara for this, and that thought hits him even harder, and he found himself sobbing, gasping for air as he tried to explain what was going through his head - “He would hate me for this, but I fucking can’t, can’t not, because I just. It’s too fucking late, and even if I could stop, make myself leave, I can’t stop feeling shit..!” 

He trailed of into an incoherent whine, and Tobirama just let him bawl into his shoulder, continuing to rub circles into his back with a troubled air until Madara wound down enough to actually listen to him. Eventually, when all that was left was sniffling and pathetic clutching at both Tobirama and the rabbit, Tobirama drew in a deep breath, just a touch shaky as well. “Are you telling me, Izuna would hate you for taking comfort from me? Or just for needing comfort?” 

That earned a tremulous laugh, though the tears hadn’t stopped. “From you, of course.” Even though Tobirama was the only one who saw him well enough to try. It was cathartic, getting all that out. And it didn’t fix things, but just saying what he did... It helped. 

From between them, came a frustrated squeak, and Madara suddenly realized that they were probably squishing Killer Jade, so he pulled away just enough to give her breathing room. “Fuck, sorry, sorry..!” She squeaked again, sounding vaguely reproachful, then settled back down in the crook of his arm. 

“I was aware it was an issue,” Tobirama said softly, reaching between them to give Killer Jade conciliatory scritches. He swallowed, and they were still pressed close enough that Madara could hear it clearly. “And that it would come up, eventually. Would that we had been on more equal footing that day,” he continued, surprisingly bitter sounding. “I think... I expected him to be faster. That’s not a mistake I commonly make.” 

“You expected him... to be faster?” Madara asked, brow furrowing and tears finally stopping at the confusion that twisted inside of him. “Does that mean you didn’t _mean_ to kill him?” His voice was getting shrill to his own ears. 

“I was hardly thinking that far ahead. I didn’t _want_ to kill him, but in the heat of battle, such things don’t matter. I’ll have you know that I was already infected by my brother’s ideals by that point, but afterwards...” He shook his head, and Madara understood perfectly well what he meant by that. Tobirama knew that Madara wouldn’t be reasoned with after Izuna’s death. 

“Fucking hell,” Madara muttered, slumping against Tobirama, this time careful of the rabbit. “Why is everything such a fucking mess?” 

There was a rustle in his collar, and Gouawae’s head peeked out. “Madara-sama’s running out of water,” it said, scrabbling at the cloth. “And this conversation has been just awful. Gouawae is thinking about crying too.” 

A soft laugh escaped Tobirama, followed by a sigh. “It’s just as well. You have terrible timing, anyway, bringing this up now.” 

That didn’t sound good. “Why’s that?” 

“That mission I mentioned before,” Tobirama shrugged. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow afternoon, probably. Assuming all the paperwork goes through.” 

Madara wrinkled his nose. “The assassination mission?” 

“Yes, that one. Do you have any advice for me, little one?” Tobirama asked, chucking the tiny fox’s chin. 

Gouawae _whimpered_ but leaned into the touch. “Gouawae doesn’t have a good answer for Yako-sama. Only that Yako-sama shouldn’t trust love not earned.” 

That earned a blink - from Madara, not Tobirama. Gouawae’s words filled him with trepidation, but it was easier to try and bury the feeling with mildly inappropriate humor. “Is this some kind of elaborate ruse to cheat on me?” 

Tobirama muffled a snort. “It’s a _mission_ , Madara. Whatever happens on a mission stays on the mission - with the exception of medical exams, ridding oneself of loot, and drinking stories. All joking aside, how much would it bother you if seduction was necessary for my plans?” 

“I may be an emotional wreck, but I’m still a shinobi,” he replied, rolling his eyes and pressing his face into Tobirama’s throat. “It’s distasteful, but if it keeps you from getting _injured_ , I can accept it. Even if I don’t like the idea of someone else touching you.” 

He felt a kiss being pressed against his forehead, through his hair. “It’s nice to see that you can be practical.” Then Tobirama brushed the hair that tended to hang in front of his face aside, finger combing it back. “I think... We’re both too worn out to do much more than go to bed right now.” 

Madara agreed, but he pushed his head into Tobirama’s hand. Those fingers scrubbing along his scalp always felt so good that it became hard to think. 

Tobirama made an amused sound, and rubbed his fingers in circles, while leaning in to plant another kiss on his forehead. “Let’s take care of this mop of yours first...” 

* * *

In the morning, Tobirama still smells heavily of Midori, stale and sweet, and Madara likely smelled the same. He also seemed resistant to the idea of waking up, shoving blindly at Madara’s face when Madara shook his shoulder. When he kissed his throat, however, Tobirama clutched at his braid, which had frayed while they slept, and groaned sleepily. 

Fuck, but he loved the way Tobirama sounded first thing in the morning. Madara had revelled in the discovery that Tobirama was adamantly _not_ a morning person, no matter how coherent he always seemed at just about any hour. Nowhere was it more apparent than in his own bed. 

Madara was still experimenting with ways to convince Tobirama to wake up before he wanted to, and so far, sex proved to be the easiest method. A little heavy petting, and Tobirama was cursing and squirming under him, and wrapping those sinfully long legs around him. He was always beautiful, but never more so than when his eyes are hazy, half mast with lust, and mouth slack at the feeling of Madara grinding their hips together. 

It didn’t take long for the cursing to melt into breathless pleas, Tobirama’s thighs tightening around him, rutting desperately against him. Madara took to murmuring lusty praise - “Fuck, you’re beautiful like this, and I could listen to you forever. You have such a lovely voice, gods, it’s just... Love it when you say my name...” 

As if on cue, Tobirama gasped. “Maadara! Nngh, damnit. Harder.” 

Madara groaned out another curse, laughing helplessly, but gripping Tobirama’s hips to give him what he asked for. “I don’t have the patience to fuck you this morning. One of these days, Tobirama, I’m going to hold you down and tease you for hours, and. Fuck.” He gasped as his head was yanked back by his braid, the sharp twinge in his scalp sending an unexpected bolt of heat through him. But he didn’t back off, grinding harder against Tobirama, and using his hold on his hips to draw him closer. “You’ll love it... Then when I’m done...fucking...teasing you, I’ll fuck you so good...” 

Tobirama’s body clamped tight around him, shuddering as he cried out. Madara came to a bright burst of pain in his throat as Tobirama sank his teeth in. They both lay shivering and sweating, tangled together for several minutes before Tobirama made a mildly affronted noise. 

“Hmm?” Madara hid a smile in Tobirama’s hair. 

“You could have waited an hour,” Tobirama complained, and Madara could feel the way he was pouting against his throat - right next to the painful sting of the bite. “Now I’m not going to be able to go back to sleep.” 

“Oh? Why not?” he asked, nuzzling the silky strands under his nose. Having something of an idea as to what Tobirama was annoyed about, he found himself biting back a laugh. 

“I’m too sober to fall asleep with cum drying on me,” Tobirama growled, then shoved at Madara’s shoulder until he rolled off of him. Which Madara did, with a chuckle. Although Tobirama immediately got up, Madara stayed where he was, watching as Tobirama stalked off in a yukata that was barely hanging onto his shoulders. 

Though he was fully awake, Madara didn’t feel like getting up just yet. It was early enough that the room was still lit dimly, in spite of the eastward facing windows. He still ached a bit from... that highly embarrassing thing, and the subsequent fuck. It was difficult to turn his mind to it, no matter how hard he had gotten off. 

Later, he would have to force himself to think about it more in depth, because he _knew_ he liked it, especially that floating feeling toward the end. The real question was what part of it bothered him so much? The obvious corporal punishment kink that he hadn’t known he had? Being treated like an unruly child? The fact that he _had_ struggled, was unable to free himself, and had gotten off all the harder for it? (Was it that strangely helpless feeling, that left him begging for more?) 

Madara shook his head and sat up, deciding that he had better join Tobirama in the bath. Tomorrow would be his first day back on full duty, and he should be prepared to get right back into the swing of things. 

* * *

It wasn’t until mid morning that he found himself dwelling on the previous night’s conversation. The implication That Tobirama hadn’t actually meant to mortally wound Izuna just then... Four years had honed Tobirama’s strength and skill, but not his ability to read others. If he had expected Izuna to be faster... That meant that Izuna should have been faster. 

The information was troubling, but he didn’t know what to do with it. He could talk to Hikaku - one of the few in his clan that he actually held some trust in - but Hikaku wouldn’t be able to tell him much. Perhaps he could find out if Hikaku had noticed anything strange, in the days before the battle that led to Izuna’s death, but it was just as likely that all Madara would do by asking is trigger paranoia in his subordinate. Was it worth it? 

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he missed the chance to have lunch with Tobirama and lend his support for the coming mission. While Tobirama was _good_ at assassination missions, Madara was aware that Tobirama didn’t care for them. Then again, it seemed like Tobirama was good at anything he turned his hand to, so he was wasted on assassinations, unless the target was unusually dangerous. Given that Tobirama had been studying up on his target for days, Madara assumed that whoever he was after was either a danger in their own right, or had excellent subordinates. 

Excluding his childhood, Madara had doubts that Tobirama knew how to fail, so he wasn’t worried. No, the thing that got him was that he would be lonely, in the meantime. Sure, he had Killer Jade and Gouawae, and apparently he had a few friends that he hadn’t known about before, but... That was very different from having a warm body to curl around at night, and surprisingly gentle touches during the day. Tobirama was far more tactile than Madara would have given him credit for, and even before he knew Tobirama has gone, he already missed him. 

Initially, after he finished in the office, he headed straight back to Tobirama’s house, which was clean and warm and smelled like him - mostly like his lotion, but it was a pleasant fragrance. Out of boredom, he investigated the shelves containing Tobirama’s books, but instead of stopping at a book or a scroll, his eyes fell on a sword displayed on one of the living room’s shelves. 

_I’ve seen it before,_ he thought, picking it up, _somewhere other than here._ It was a heavy katana, in a decorative sheath, but it wasn’t until he slid the blade free that he knew where he had seen it. At the river, when they were children, Tobirama had been wielding a sword that looked too big in his tiny hands, when he had squared off against Izuna and Tajima alongside his own father. 

This was the Kyouraku family sword, and it still seemed incongruous that a shinobi was granted the right to carry such an important noble heirloom at such a young age. There were hints of chakra in it, and the steel had a well cared gleam. Feeling the weight of it, Madara thought that it was far too large for a ten year old to carry, proving that even back then, Tobirama had been a stubborn little bastard. 

Gently, he placed the sword back on its stand, then went to investigate the kitchen. For someone who barely gave any thought to his meals, Tobirama had a truly impressive amount of food stored away under preservation seals, and most of the scrolls were clearly labeled with their contents. There was also a storage seal on the knife block, which seemed redundant until he checked the contents and found a whetstone. 

Eventually, Madara found no reason to linger any longer, and went home again. 

The shadowy presence was still there, though there was an impatient feel to it, as though it didn’t like Madara leaving it alone for days on end. Madara ignored it, and Gouawae’s unhappy growl, in favor of Izuna’s shrine. Honestly, he never knew what to say to Izuna, so once he lit the incense and sat down, he pulled Killer Jade out of her purse to cuddle her. 

“What were you hiding from me?” he finally asked, letting out a frustrated growl. Next to his ear, Gouawae made a curious sound. “Were you ill? Is that what was wrong? How the hell would Tobirama have misjudged your speed unless there was something really wrong?” 

Disgruntled, he pulled out some bunny treats for Killer Jade, and fed them to her while staring at the shrine. He hated the idea that Izuna was hiding something important from him, before that battle. The beginning of the end, he had once thought, though his attitude was changing. Konoha didn’t feel as much like a curse as it had, more like a slow way to get exactly what he wanted. 

“I’m giving in to this village thing, you know. If even Tobirama and I can learn to get along, that means there’s a chance that this thing will _last_. And... that’s what I wanted, even if you never understood. Even if you’ll hate me, I can accept that. Because...” Madara bows his head, biting his lip. “Because for you it’s too late.” 

Gouawae squeaked in surprise as he abruptly stood, carefully cradling Killer Jade. He already knew he couldn’t stay the night here. It was the best he could manage, to talk to his brother. Yet, when he turned, preparing to leave, his heart caught in his throat as he came face to face with Izuna. 

* * *

His heart was pounding in his ears, and his fist against Kukaku’s door was a distant echo of it. It wasn’t late enough for her to be abed, so she answered fairly quickly, blinking in shock to see Madara’s wide-eyed face, pale and sweating. “What the hell happened to you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” 

Madara whimpered, because yes, that was exactly what he had seen. 

She sighed at him, scrubbing her real hand into her hair. “Oookay. Check your rabbit,” she instructed, and he held up Killer Jade, never having bothered to put her back in her bag. “Right. Come inside, and tell me what happened.” 

Five minutes later, Kukaku was plying him with an infusion of mint and chamomile and Gouawae was purring and rubbing at his ear in a manner that it probably thought would be soothing. All it did was tickle. The hot tisane helped, a little, but Madara was still shaking when Kukaku pushed again. 

“Don’t worry about Kagami overhearing it. He’s sleeping over at his little girlfriend’s house.” She shifted around and rubbed the base of her wooden arm, then, making a face, took it off and leaned it against the table. The hand looked strange and obscenely realistic, flopped over the edge of the table. It didn’t help much that Madara knew it was only wood, it was well crafted. 

“My house is haunted,” he said, swallowing thickly and forcing his eyes away from the fake hand. 

Kukaku blinked at him, her expression clearly skeptical. “Your house is less than three years old. And I really doubt that you’ve brutally murdered anyone in your house. Have you?” 

“No! I just. I know what I saw, and I need an exorcist.” Madara wasn’t going to back down, not now that he finally gave in and admitted that there was a problem. “I already knew about the demon, but... I saw... I saw... Fuck.” Apparently admitting that he had seen Izuna was going to be harder to get out. “He looked _sad_. That’s why I’m sure it was really him, because. Because I thought he would be _mad_.” 

She blinked again, but she was starting to look alarmed. “Demon? What demon?” she demanded. 

“I don’t know, it’s just some kind of whispering shadow thing. It doesn’t do anything, just. Talks. A lot. Usually when I’m tired.” Madara scrubbed at his face with his free hand, then reached for his tisane. “I can handle that. What I can’t handle is that _Izuna_ is apparently haunting me.” 

Dark brown eyes stared at him for a long moment, then Kukaku snatched up her prosthetic and swung it at him. It connected hard enough that he yelped, nearly dropping his cup. “Someone needs to teach you that words can fuck you up more than almost anything else,” Kukaku huffed, grimacing at him. “Do you have any proof about the demon? Something that will get a trained onmyōji willing to look into it?” 

Wordlessly, Madara put his cup back down and pulled Gouawae out of his collar, stretching his aching jaw. Gouawae immediately piped up, “Madara-sama’s house is possessed by an akuma.” 

“A pipe fox might be convincing,” she allowed, putting her prosthetic arm back down. “I can find you a good priest that is actually fully trained in onmyōdō. In the meantime, you aren’t going home.” 

Madara shook his head. “I have things I actually keep there that I need. Clothes aren’t important, but equipment, files. I’ll be right back on mission rotation come tomorrow, too.” 

“So you want your gunbai,” she surmised, and he couldn’t actually deny that. “You should just carry that damned thing with you.” 

“Uh huh. And where exactly would I hide it? My hair?” 

Kukaku snorted. “Why not? You could hide an army in there. Let me tattoo a storage seal on the back of your neck, and then you can shock the fuck out of someone by pulling it out of your hair.” 

The humor is more comforting than the tisane, especially since Gouawae decided that he must have abandoned it and proceeded to suck it up. “Yeah, sure, why not?” Then he sighed. “Do you mind if I stay here tonight? I don’t want to stay at Tobirama’s place while he’s gone, and Hashirama’s... Well. You know him better than I do.” 

“No kidding. Besides, if you don’t know how to make silence seals, he’ll keep you up all night _howling_. I have no idea how Mito keeps up with his libido.” 

Madara choked on a laugh. “Fuck his libido. I don’t know how she keeps up with _him_.” 

Kukaku chuckled in agreement. “I have a guest room. Although, I have to ask. Is that why you came to stay with me last time? Because there was a demon in your house and you couldn’t tell anyone for some reason?” 

For a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eyes. Because she was right, and it’s humiliating that he couldn’t bring himself to talk to a friend about his problems. “Paranoia. It’s not just some reason, but... Yeah, that was why.” 

“Right.” She gave a sharp nod, and got up to pick up their cups. “Kagami’s going to be gone all night, so you may as well take me out to dinner. Because I _don’t_ cook.” 

He almost protested, but... he was intruding on her privacy. The least he could do was feed her, even if it made him think of Touka, the leech. “Only if you’re up for yakiniku.” If she isn't... Well, they can do like he and Touka did, and argue the whole way to the restaurant. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umeshu: Liqueur made by soaking unripened ume (plums) in shōchū and sugar. Some varieties even have plums still in the bottles.
> 
> Hachimitsu Umeshu: A type of umeshu that’s made with honey.
> 
> Shōchū: Distilled alcohol, typically made from rice, barley, or sweet potatoes, but can be made from many other things.
> 
> Onmyōji: A type of exorcist. They practice onmyōdō.
> 
> Akuma: An evil spirit, often translated as “devil”, where “yōkai” tends to be translated as “demon”. Unlike akuma, youkai aren’t inherently evil.
> 
> Yakiniku: Grilled meat.
> 
> Names:
> 
> Kukaku: "Sky Crane" - honestly, I'm not sure if I already did her, so here it is. (Bleach expy, ripped straight from the manga.)

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should put out there that this will be the same as last time. It'll probably be at least a couple weeks before I feel comfortable throwing out chapters for the next fic.
> 
> (Edit 1/10/19: I changed Shigeo's name to Tōshō, for reasons.)


End file.
